August

 And just like that, moments turn into memories. 

You know that she is not going to video call you asking you to guess what she had done, and even after a million guesses, you would have never guessed that she had basically just folded a tortilla with french-fries coated in mushroom-ginger flavored mayo and had it with olives and mint ice cream. She called you just to say, "Don't do that. It's not as delicious as it sounds." To which you would have replied, "Honestly, that does not sound delicious."

Your little presentations and her wishing "Slay it." Every. Single. Time. 

You know that she won't be trying to paint the easiest art ever and yet mess it up and with every little satirical glare, she would respond, "I mean- Van Gogh didn't know Physics either." She won't reorganize her shelves every other day like a passive-aggressive person and scold you for your keys which are slightly misplaced. She won't be running so crazily down the stairs, fall down and say, "Stupid shoes!". She wouldn't be up all night and working on her computer screen, and you wouldn't feel the keyboard tapping to which you would complain, "Jeez, is that a typewriter or what?" And she would do it louder for a second. 

You know that she would not obsess over some anime character's haircut and ask you to do the same, and you wouldn't have to agree to that just for her. She won't make your tie every day or speak every day about Stuart Mill or Adolf Hitler; she won't proudly introduce you to her dumb mnemonics, and you wouldn't have to pretend that they were so nice. She won't ask you to go for "bike dates" on country roads with her grey hoodies and sweatpants she always adored. 

Every little thing and you'll miss them. 

But every night how she lurked closer to you in her sleep, her thin hair brushing through her skin, and you'd say to yourself, "This kid", you'd miss that the most. 

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